


A Dancer In Atlasdam

by lentranced



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lentranced/pseuds/lentranced
Summary: Missing her companions, and Cyrus in particular, Primrose decides to visit Atlasdam and see just how well the professor is faring with his studies and his dancing.





	1. Chapter 1

_Dearest Cyrus,_

 

_I hope you have been well. It feels like it has been only some months since our group parted, yet somehow, so much of that time seems to expand and fill a space much greater than that. It’s strange. I didn’t think to be this sort of person, but with passing days, there are voices that I miss, and one of them is yours._

_The summer sun is warm but relentless at the tail of the season. I have been living here for so long that I am starting to feel restless again. Home is something I will keep chasing, I suppose._

_I don't know what I want to tell you with this letter, but I want you to be prepared to expect a visitor._

 

_Warmest wishes,_

_Primrose Azelhart_

 

That had been a harder letter than most for Primrose to pen. She had written it in a scribbled rush of scratchy ink, drunk on one the late summer evening's suffocating orange rays of sunshine. It had bathed both her and the letter in a thick and sticky, peachy warmth. She had decided against spending too too much time on it, writing too much, to the professor.

It shouldn't have been so difficult to write, but every few words she found herself chewing on her lower lip, at a loss for words. She didn't know what to say. How much would have been too much? How little was so little that it would seem dismissive? She knew her way with words, and this was no different, yet somehow it affected her deeply, because she didn't have the advantage of the rest of her.

It was pen on paper, no smooth lilting voice and no batting eyelashes. All barking and no biting. She didn't want to come off as barking at Cyrus, however.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, folding up the letter. How much weight would her words carry?

Better she not look over it for too long. Better she send it off before she had a second thought.

Better that she begin her trip to Atlasdam now, before something stirred inside of her to think better.

Home was something that she would keep chasing anyways.

***

The letter sat at the bottom of Cyrus’s mail, tossed aside one night with the rest of the mail on a particularly busy evening. Every day was a bustle of busyness and though there was always something for Cyrus to be sticking in nose in, the days did not pass with a progressively increasing desire for the smell of travel and adventure again.

It wasn't just that. The world was vast and every corner that one would explore only fed Cyrus's insatiable curiosity further. What he missed more than just the desire to explore, though, was that particular sense of companionship. Every now and then, the music would catch him and in those moments, he felt as though he would trip over the memories. It was a strange recollection, of the people he had met and journeyed with not too long ago. The travellers, from Tressa to Therion, to Olberic, Ophilia, and H'aanit, had housed themselves inside his head and heart as though they had been there for years.

And then there was Primrose. She never did finish teaching him how to dance. He wouldn't have followed up on the dancing practice on his own, anyways, but it was certainly an interesting experience.

One day, this peacock would strut.

He closed his books and dusted his hands off. It was time for a walk.

Cyrus rubbed his eyes and pulled the curtains to a close before leaving his study. He headed down the stairs, out the front door and through the gardens. The sun was beginning its descent, tossing shadows across the brick and stone of the city.

The streets of Atlasdam were moderately crowded in the evenings, and Cyrus took everything in at once, letting the smells of food and sounds of adults and children overtake him, attempt to flush his thoughts of what was already on his mind. It would be refreshing, to clear his mind for a bit.

He hadn't even reached the town square when a peculiar and possibly familiar scent intrigued him.

Then, he felt the pull on his sleeve. Spinning, Cyrus looked down at the woman.

She still had that fire in her eye, her skin a tone darker than he remembered, kissed by the summer sun. Primrose the dancer stared back at him, and she was the first to break out into a smile.

Cyrus looked at her with wide eyes. He clapped his hands. "Good afternoon, Miss Azelhart! What a coincidence, to run into you."

"A coincidence? Professor, did you not receive my letter?"

Cyrus and Primrose drifted towards the wall of an inn, so that they wouldn't be in between the crowds.

"What letter?" Cyrus asked. "It warms my heart to consider that you thought of me so much to write me a letter, but I am afraid I've received no such..."

He trailed off and Primrose frowned at him, but only for a brief moment. She shook her head and tugged his sleeve.

"Well, no matter," she said. "The point is, I'm here now and I would like to spend some time in your company."

"Ah, are you perhaps feeling inclined towards learning about our world's history? How wonderful! I will take you to my office and we can begin lessons immediately."

"That's not it!" Primrose said. "I didn't come here to learn... well, I suppose I sort of did, but I'm not here to read books, Professor."

"We should make our way towards my office either way!" Cyrus said, heading back along the bridge. Primrose followed, hurrying along by his side.

"So," she began, "did you end up going to one of those faculty balls?"

Cyrus felt his face heat up and he paused under the shade of some trees, shaking his head. "The girls have been spared, I suppose."

Primrose looked down at her feet, and then back up at him. "How unfortunate," she said. "Do you really think those girls were spared?"

Cyrus laughed sheepishly, but he didn't add to the subject. "Let's have a seat and then we'll catch up."

The sky was all shades of orange, pink and purple when Cyrus returned to his office with Primrose in tow. He pulled over a chair for her but Primrose took time to look over his messy stacks of letters and books with what may have been a disapproving frown.

"How do you keep your thoughts straight in all this?" She asked.

"Those are only the bills and such, my dear," Cyrus said as Primrose reached into the pile and pulled out her own letter, hidden in a thick brown envelope.

She waved it in front of him. "Is this one also a bill?" She asked, tearing it open.

"I don't remember seeing that one, frankly." Cyrus took the letter from her and read over its contents, eyebrows arching with surprise.

"This is from two weeks ago," he said. "Why, I don't know how it ended up in the wrong pile. How thoughtful of you, Miss Azelhart, and my apologies for not being prepared for your visit."

"You can call me Primrose, Professor," Primrose said.

"Then I will be Cyrus as well," Cyrus said. "Though there was a certain charm to hearing you call me Professor, though."

Primrose laughed. "Well, Professor Cyrus, how is the vast world of academia treating you?"

Cyrus took his seat and leaned forwards, hands clasped on his desk. "The truth, Primrose, is that I have been feeling a strong sense of restlessness in my bones. I think I'd like to leave the city for some time once again. And, quite honestly, I was beginning to miss you."

Primrose jolted forward, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I missed you as well," she said. "I was wondering if you were interested in continuing those dancing lessons, actually."

"Do you mean to actually tutor me?" Cyrus asked. "That is very kind of you, Primrose, but I couldn't accept such lessons for free!"

Primrose was already out of her chair. "Actually, Professor, if you don't mind, I would like to learn some simple magic in exchange. Would that be a fair deal?"

Cyrus put a hand to his chin. "You sound as though you have thought about this very much."

"On my journey to Atlasdam, yes," said Primrose. "I think, I'd like to see you dance."

She looked up at him and after a brief moment, smiled.

"Magic and dancing," said Cyrus. "I cannot turn down someone who hungers for knowledge. And I suppose you won't be spared from my set of left feet, dear."

Primrose circled around the desk and offered her hands. He took them and got to his feet.

"I hardly mind," she said. "It was quite the experience. I wouldn't call it suffering at all."

She spun him around and Cyrus nearly lost his balance. Laughing, he grasped the side of his desk.

"Are you suggesting that you found teaching enjoyable?" He said. "No matter how much one learns, we never do stop being students, do we?"

Primrose held out her hands again. "Properly this time," she said. "And yes I did. I enjoyed teaching you, Professor. I'd like to see you improve."

"Then you will have my first dance," Cyrus said. He held her hands but his eyes were on their feet, moving slowly and his, especially clumsily, but they were in sync, moving together like a wave in the sea.

Primrose led herself and Cyrus to the centre of the room, the dying sunlight pooling at their feet.

"It won't take just one dance," she said. "We'll have to practice lots. Practice makes perfect, after all."

Cyrus snapped his fingers, and a thin rivulet of lightning ran down along the length of his hand, fading as it disappeared the cuff of his sleeve.

"Likewise, my dear," he said. "Learning the intricacies of magic is not something that can be done in one evening."

Primrose winked at him. "I'm not planning on leaving in one evening."

Cyrus paused his clumsy footwork. Primrose helped him correct his stance.

"So when do we start?" She asked. "With the magic lessons?"

Cyrus gestured to his bookshelf. "We could begin tonight, if you wish, but wouldn't you like to rest for a night after your journey?"

Primrose patted his arm. "I came to see you, Professor," she said, and then she stopped dancing and put a finger to her chin. "Maybe you could show me around Atlasdam tonight instead? It doesn't have to be the market or pub. The library is fine, too."

Cyrus ran a hand along the nape of his neck. "The library can wait until tomorrow," he said. "Let me take you through the city and buy us a meal. We must make it clear to everyone that my friend, Primrose the dancer, is in Atlasdam."

"Any place where a dancer could perform, Professor?" Primrose asked.

Cyrus clasped his hands. "I would be delighted if you performed for me first," he said.

Primrose's cheeks flushed, and then she met his eyes and there was no sly glint in them, only happiness, and so she laughed.

"I'd love to perform for you," she said. "But first, a girl has got to eat."


	2. In Which A Dancer And A Scholar Have Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is my duty," Cyrus said.  
> "To observe things, or to observe me?"  
> "You are a phenomenon, Primrose."

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Primrose and Cyrus made their way to the town square. The last of the heat pricked the nape of Primrose's neck. As they drew closer to the restaurant and under the shade of its wide canopy, cooler air kissed her bare skin.

Holloway Stop was especially crowded tonight. Cyrus did not frequent the eatery, except on occasion to people-watch, but the energy of Holloway, with its dimmed, mellow lighting and rousing music performances at the front, reminded him of Primrose.

"This takes me back," Primrose said as she and Cyrus slipped through the narrow doorway. Instantly, they were surrounded by the hum of energy that felt strangely comfortable.

To Primrose, what lay at the other end of the restaurant was what home usually looked like: a polished wooden stage where each beam shone brilliantly. reflecting the light thrown across the room by the chandeliers. It hit the eyes of the audience, glimmering as hundreds of eyes followed whatever magic the performer cast over the stage.

It was on that very wood, across the continent of Osterra, that Primrose skipped, from one home to another.

_Five, six, seven, eight._

Primrose's eyes went to Cyrus's face, and what a handsome face it was, truly. That much was old news. She couldn't tell if he seemed lost, sandwiched between the crowd, or if he was off in his own thoughts.

As if on cue, he looked at her, and his perfect, natural smile met her practiced one.

 _Oh, we look good together_ , she thought. The thought didn't last. A bulky figure pushed past Cyrus and the scholar nearly toppled over. Primrose caught him by the crook of his arm.

"Ah," he laughed. "Thank you, Primrose. It's just been so long since I've visited this place."

"But you knew I'd like it," said Primrose. "Was it the stage?"

"Of course!" said Cyrus. "Is a stage but not a home for a spellbinding dancer such as yourself?"

There he went again. Cyrus's silly, unassuming words melted into the music like butter against warm bread. The mellow lamplight made his brown hair glow like dark honey.

"It is," Primrose said, "You are observant as always, Cyrus."

"It is my duty," Cyrus said.

"To observe things, or to observe me?"

"You are a phenomenon, Primrose," he said, without missing a beat, but the beats were scattered in Primrose's ears.

Cyrus led her to a table. The undertones were lost on him. He started talking about how, as a scholar, he couldn't help but document every little detail he noticed about the world around him.

Primrose did not particularly mind listening to him talk over the melody and chatter. Better his talking than the squawking of tipsy and hungry customers alike. The place smelled of alcohol, but it was far less strong than Primrose was used to, hardly harsh on her senses.

When a waiter approached them, he set down a simple menu and raked a hand through his mussed hair.

"Busy evening," Primrose commented.

"This is one of the busiest restaurants in Atlasdam," said Cyrus. "I know you are hardly one to mind a merry commotion."

"How thoughtful you are, professor."

He ordered a plate of fish and rice, and Primrose decided on a vegetable curry. Her eyes didn't drift far from their table, but when they did, they caught on the side of the restaurant where the tables had been cleared and pushed aside to make room for customers to dance.

It was as though there were two stages here, she thought. One where you would dance for everyone, and the floor where you would, presumably, dance for yourself and perhaps your partner.

She wondered, in this moment, which stage she preferred. She could own either one, make it all hers, but the ground beneath her played a part in every dance she did on it.

"Is your food getting cold, perhaps?" Cyrus asked.

Primrose's attention snapped back to him and to her plate. Cyrus lifted her plate in his right hand and muttered something under his breath – she couldn't catch it over the music but she could see the flame erupt from his left hand.

The flame mellowed out into a low burning blob of orange. He held it under her plate, and by the look on his face, Primrose guessed that he found this to be rather effortless. She almost scoffed. Was he aware that he was showing off?

With a snap of his fingers, the flame seemingly wrapped into the flesh of his palm and disappeared. Smiling, he put the plate of curry back down in front of her, except now it was bubbling ever so slightly, with steam slowly wafting from the meal.

"Oh my," said Primrose, "You'll teach me how to do these kinds of things too, won't you?"

Cyrus's eyes sparkled and the grin on his face was massive. He clapped his hands before outstretching his arms. The flames of the lanterns flanking them changed colours, going from orange to yellow, green, blue and violet, before burning a bright pink and settling into a reddish orange once again.

Sounds of astonishment were scattered throughout the restaurant. When Primrose smiled back at Cyrus, she knew by the way his shoulders settled and his smile changed to show fewer teeth, that he hadn't done it to impress her or anyone else at Holloway Stop.

"Magic is versatile," he said in a whisper that barely contained his childlike glee.

Primrose lifted her fork and giggled. The lights still seemed to dance in the corner of her eye.

"You're quite adept at putting on a show, Cyrus," she said.

He seemed to swell with pride. "It all comes with practice and persistence! These are simply cosmetic tricks, little flourishes that aren't truly functional. You'll be able to do it easily enough."

Primrose pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and started to eat her food. "I trust your judgement."

The rest of their meal continued in relative silence, though the smile on Cyrus's face did not entirely fade throughout the dinner. When the waiter returned to pick up their plates and present the dessert menu, Cyrus extended it towards Primrose.

"Please, pick whatever you like," he said. "You are a guest in Atlasdam, at least for tonight."

Primrose couldn't turn down the offer, nor could she turn down his simple kindness. She leaned forward and took the menu, lacquered nails brushing against his fingertips.

"I think I'll have the cheesecake," Primrose said, returning the menu to Cyrus upon deciding.

"That will be two cheesecakes," Cyrus said to the waiter. He handed the menu back and Primrose watched as his eyes wandered, past her and to the dancing couples in the centre of the floor.

"How in the world do they manage to move like that?" He said softly, almost as though he was thinking out loud.

"Same as with your magic," Primrose said, arms flat on the lace tablecloth. "Practice and persistence."

Cyrus thumbed the tip of his nose thoughtfully. "And passion," he said.

"And passion," Primrose repeated. "How about it, professor?"

He looked at her, a question in the arch of his brows. "Cyrus, please," he said.

"Cyrus, would you like to dance with me?" Primrose was up before she had even finished her question. She strode around the side of the table and stood in front of him, one hand on her hip and the other open, palm facing upwards. An invitation.

Cyrus looked up at her. It might have been the lantern-light accentuating his cheeks, but to Primrose, they certainly looked flushed. Perhaps more from embarrassment or shyness than anything else.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'll make a fool of myself," Cyrus said. Still, his arm lifted off his lap and his fingers touched hers.

"It's a matter of perspective," Primrose said. "We can be a speck in the crowds."

"Indeed," said Cyrus.

She closed her fingers around his. A gentle but firm grip. He tilted his head, and his hair shone, dark like honey from the deep of the forest.

Cyrus stood up, going from looking up at her, to looking down, the same curious wonder and shyness in his eyes constant throughout.

"Or we can own the floor," finished Primrose. "Make it ours and only ours. We can be alone if you let yourself be."

At this, Cyrus blinked, and then he smiled. Every nerve in Primrose's body was alive with the sizzle of music in her ears, the soft rhythmic shuffle of heels against the floor. She was suddenly, madly, aware of every part of herself, of the soft fabric of her dress against the sharp turns of her shoulder blades, and the gentle weight of her earrings in each ear.

"I trust your judgement too," Cyrus said.

And then she swept him off his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to the people who supported me throughout this endeavour. I wrote every word with care and thought, and I hope it shows. I hope you enjoy this, and potentially, what's to come.

**Author's Note:**

> (Adding more chapters soon)


End file.
